


Don't Close Your Eyes

by PrisonBreakSupernaturalGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cursed Dean, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-29 22:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11450316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrisonBreakSupernaturalGirl/pseuds/PrisonBreakSupernaturalGirl
Summary: While on a hunt, Dean is plagued with a biblical disease that works to kill you from the inside out. It takes your memories that are considered your most painful or remorseful ones, and it forms them into vivid nightmares that will result in your death through dreams. Set between the episodes "#Thinman" and "Blade Runners". Destiel and Wincest free.





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

The night was pitch dark. No stars or moon shone through the thick blanket of smoky gray clouds cloaking the sky. In a particular alleyway, the garish graffiti that decorated the walls was almost unseen, engulfed by the overwhelming blackness. A rusted pipe was leaking slightly, the steady drip-drip of the water accompanied by the rustling of rogue, dried leaves billowing down the cement walkway.

Other than the minuscule noises of alleyway, the night was dead silent. It was almost as if life had been put on hiatus for a moment, as if the clock had stopped. Not a single living soul shifted in their reveries. Some may have considered this quietude peaceful, because, truthfully, it was. But there was something ominous about it...a looming threat, dark and treacherous. Something was off, and most anyone could detect that a deplorable incident was about to occur.

Then, suddenly, the foreboding tranquility was broken. Life once more commenced, caused by one human being. She traipsed into the alleyway, watchful and observant, her eyes wide with awareness. Her slender form pressed itself against the wall, concealing herself from passersby. Her right hand slipped into the interior of her fitted black leather jacket, reaching for something. Just before she withdrew her hand from her coat, her eyes flitted suspiciously from left or right, making certain that she was, indeed, alone.

Apparently satisfied, her gaze returned to her hand as she removed it from her jacket. And she was grasping something...something long, slim, and glinting silver, the only light in the otherwise dark and lonely world. It was a knife. Not just any ordinary, run-of-the-mill pig-sticker, it was a blade. A very special blade. The girl ran her fingers lightly along the edge, a sinister smirk forming on her lips. Using her free hand, she pushed her long, thick brunette hair back behind her shoulders, and clutched the knife's hilt until her knuckles turned white. As terrifying as she was herself, there was a subtle hint of apprehension in her stance that could vaguely be noticed by someone vigilant.

The girl remained breathtakingly still, tense and alert, as if she were waiting for something...some _ one.  _ Her eyes never strayed from the darkened street, as if they were focused on one specific point in the universe. Suddenly, a rustling of what could be described as wings, sounded, and the girl stiffened, her body trembling slightly. Unexpectedly, the irises of her brown eyes began to glow, their shade turning to a luminous silvery-gray color.

"You are not to be harmed, child," The silky, collected voice sounded, its tone reassuring, yet austere. "Unless you attempt to harm one of us." A tall figure stepped out of the shadows, his face calm and his expression serene. He could clearly see the blade clutched in the girl's hand, but he seemed unfazed, as if he had dealt with situations such as this before.

The girl appeared confused, yet nevertheless determined. She then finally spoke. "Why?" The inquiry was almost uttered as if it were a statement, her words rough and expressionless. "Why spare me? I'm an abomination to your kind, as you dickbags put it." Her body stiffened as she realized the consequences she could receive for her spiteful words.

"You have angel blood flowing within you, sister," The man responded, his words soft and revealing no anger. "Yet you are still a human being. You are unique, child, and you show great potential. But if you cross our boundaries one too many times, we shall be forced to eliminate you." His voice sounded almost as if he would deeply regret it if that ended up to be the case. "I do understand your distrust. Your kind is rare," He continued. "Nephilim are considered abominations in every angel's mind. Yet we only harm those who do great harm to us or humankind."

She paused as she listened to his words, clearly cautious now. Her grip on the blade was still tight, but she appeared as if she were rethinking her decision. But when the angel dared to call her "sister", it seemed as if something inside her snapped. She tensed up once more, barely allowing him to finish his sentence, squaring her shoulders and advancing towards him. "I am no sister of yours," She snarled. "And I never will be, no matter what you say." Before the angel had a chance to reply, she lunged forwards, her angel blade aimed high.

The angel made no move to sidestep or avoid the slash, but just as the girl was about to stab at him, he momentarily disappeared. The girl whirled around, finding the him standing behind her with a rather melancholy look on his face. "I warned you of what would happen if you crossed our boundaries," He said to her. "And I am sorry for what I am about to do." He then lifted his hand slowly, almost ceremoniously, and began to lay it down on her forehead.

"Not so fast," The Nephilim replied, unfazed by the hand hovering above her forehead. He paused, confused by her words. She threw down a 

match, and a ring of fire lit up around the angel. He stumbled back away from the flames, an expression of pure shock on his face. He looked up at the Nephilim, and she lifted her chin, a sinister smirk forming on her lips.

"Well, I guess the abomination wins."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_ "I can give you the Mark, Dean, if it's what you truly want." _

That one sentence would change Dean Winchester's world forever. He wasn't aware of it at the time, nor was he for months after. But he would be. Sooner or later, he would realize the life-changing impact that Cain had inflicted on him. Just one motivation would force him to become a  _ ‘full-out, foaming at the mouth, maniac’. _

But Dean hadn't thought about the consequences of receiving the Mark. He hadn't recalled what the Mark had turned Cain into...a Knight of Hell. And not just that. But their leader, their father. It was in the heat of the moment when Dean took on the burden, compelled by his pure hatred for that one Knight of Hell. The only thought that was running through his brain _ … _

_ Kill Abaddon...kill Abaddon...kill Abaddon… _

If Dean had been aware of the consequences when he was faced with the choice of taking on the Mark, most people who know him from the inside out would agree that he would have accepted it anyway. If you had to choose one word to describe Dean Winchester, it would be loyal. Loyal to his family, and also loyal to humanity. And he would sacrifice anything to save them...even his own sanity.

His brother, whom Dean has sacrificed so much for, would probably not take on the Mark. Sam was loyal, of course, as much as his older brother. But he was more logical, he didn't jump right in without surveying the possible outcomes. If it had been to save Dean, then he would have immediately accepted the burden. But to kill a Knight of Hell, he would not have taken the risk.

So, was Dean doomed? I suppose that's for fate itself to decide.

* * *

_ "Your spell brought you to the source of the Blade's power," Cain explained. "Me." When the retired Knight of Hell had pulled up his sleeve to reveal the burn mark on his right forearm, Dean hadn't known how much that same Mark would destroy him. How could he? He hadn't even been aware of what it was. But the minute he saw it, even before Crowley, the King of Hell, formed the cross over his heart, he knew it was special, and not in a good way. _

_ "Really? Now?" He said in response to Crowley's religious actions. The demon gave him a look of pure exasperation and surprise, as if he thought Dean should have known what the burned symbol was. _

_ "It's the bloody Mark of Cain," Crowley hissed out, his eyes clearly displaying fear. Dean couldn't understand Crowley's behavior. From the minute he realized they were dealing with Cain, the father of murder, he'd been acting utterly paranoid. In a way, it was unnerving, the King of Hell being frightened of something. But the King of Hell being frightened of another demon...that was worse. But Dean wasn't afraid. At first, maybe he was a little nervous, but all Cain had proved himself to be was a coward who shied away in the face of murder. _

_ Retired. That's what Cain called it.  _ More like candy-ass.  _ Dean thought sourly as he recalled the events from the past few hours. The friggin' dude didn't do jack squat. All he wanted to do was sit around in his backwoods cabin and carry out his moronic hobby of bee-keeping. For a while, Dean was almost unconvinced that this was  _ the  _ Cain that the bible talked about. _

_ "From Lucifer himself," Cain added on to Crowley's statement. "The Mark and the Blade work together. Without the Mark, the Blade is useless..." The minute Dean heard those words uttered from the Knight's mouth,  _ _ he knew that he was doomed. He wasn't sure how, but it was for certain that he was. _ _ "It's just an old bone." Cain finished. _

_ "A bone?" Crowley inquired. _

_ "The jawbone of an animal," Dean guessed, thinking rapidly. "The jawbone you used to kill Abel because he was God's favorite." That was always the story, wasn't it? Two brothers who loved each other, then turned against each other. First, Michael and Lucifer, and now Cain and Abel? Dean was getting head spins from the similarities to him and his brother. _

_ "Abel wasn't talking to God," Cain retorted, defensive. "He was talking to  _ Lucifer.  _ Lucifer was gonna make my brother into his pet. I couldn't bear to watch him be corrupted, so I offered a deal...Abel's soul in Heaven for my soul in Hell." Dean couldn't help but think back to the time when Sam had been Lucifer's true vessel. He had been so opposed to Sam's suggestion about allowing the fallen angel to possess him, even though it had been for good reason. But he said nothing, no use pointing out even more likenesses between them. "Lucifer accepted," Cain continued. "As long as I was the one who sent Abel to Heaven. So, I killed him." Dean was internally shocked by how casually Cain spoke those words. In a way, it was upsetting. "Became a soldier of Hell...a Knight." _

_ "And Lucifer ordered you to make more." Dean finished for him. It had been easy enough to predict that. _

_ "My Knights and I..." Cain trailed off, appearing as if he were reminiscing. "We did horrible things...for centuries. Bringers of chaos and darkness." Dean stole a glance warily at the Mark, his heart pounding. _

_ And, then, suddenly, it was as if time flew by. Cain's voice once more sounded, but he wasn't continuing with his history lesson. Instead, he spoke directly to Dean. "I can give you the Mark, Dean, if it's what you truly want." _

_ "What are you talking about?" Dean asked cautiously, his heart pounding even harder. What was Cain playing at? _

_ "The Mark can be transferred to someone who's worthy..." More and more of Cain's words to him raced through his mind. "I felt connected to you right from the beginning...kindred spirits, if you will. You and I are very much alike..." Dean felt overall confused. How was this happening? "You never give up on anything, do you?" Cain's voice was flying by so fast that Dean barely had time to register what he was saying. He only caught a few sentences. "You have to know with the Mark comes a great burden. Some would call it a great cost." _

_ Dean felt a hand grasp his forearm, and when he looked down, he was holding Cain's as well. A sharp pain spread into his fingertips and sidled up his arm. An array of red veins traveled upwards, and Dean gritted his teeth. His gaze flitted back to his forearm, and shock hurtled through him at the sight his eyes were greeted with. A mark, burned into his arm, exactly the same as Cain's. He stole a glance up at Cain, gasping. _

_ He was cursed with the Mark of Cain. There was nothing more he could do about it. What he did have to do was find Abaddon...and he would kill her if it was the last thing he ever did. _

* * *

There was a pounding. 

An intense pounding that seemed as if it would never cease.  _ Pound. Pound. Pound.  _ It rattled in Dean's mind, and his head spun. What was that noise? "Dean!" A familiar voice called. He heard the sound of something that could be described as a door being slammed open, and he immediately started, his eyes flying open as he jerked upwards, gasping. Sam stood in the doorway, a concerned look on his face. "You okay, Dean?"

"I'm...uh...fine," Dean lied shakily, his heart galloping in his chest. The dream was still fresh in his mind, and a cold sweat soaked his body. He was trembling, and he could feel a slight pain throbbing dully from the Mark. He resisted the urge to clutch the forearm which held it...no use making Sam more suspicious than he already was.

His younger brother was watching him silently, a deep, worried crease between his brows. But he said nothing, ever compassionate to Dean's internal struggles. Whenever Sam was aware that Dean was hiding something, he never pushed him. Mainly because he knew that no matter what he did, Dean wouldn't crack. But also due to the fact that he was respectful to his brother's decisions to protect him from whatever he was hassling with.

"Well, uh..." Sam trailed off, unable to think of a good line to brush off the fact that he had realized Dean was shaken. So, he simply continued with what he had originally come in to tell his brother. "Meet me in the library, okay? I think I found a possible case. Sounds like our kind of thing."

Dean nodded, still breathing heavily. It was clear that he was attempting to conceal his discomfort from his brother, but Sam wasn't fooled so easily. Nevertheless, he kept his mouth shut about the subject. He lingered awkwardly for a moment, watching the elder Winchester with unease. After a minute, he backed out of Dean's room and shut the door.

Sam's mind was racing, struggling to uncover the mystery. What could possibly be troubling Dean? His thoughts immediately directed towards the Mark of Cain.  _ No.  _ He told himself immediately after. They couldn't let the Mark overshadow any other coherent thought in their minds. But a small voice inside his head said otherwise. The Mark was an ancient, biblical curse, and Sam was preparing himself for the worst after Dean took down Abaddon. Yet the question was...what could the worst be? Could Dean really turn into a rabid murderer? Blood boiling and all? Sam couldn't help but attempt to refuse to think that way, but he knew for a fact that he had to be ready.

The minute the door clicked shut and Sam disappeared back into the bunker, Dean let go of his act. He fell back onto the bed, grasping his forearm and fingering the Mark of Cain with his thumb. He couldn't let go of the image of Cain inside his mind. The intensity of his stare burned in his brain.  _ I felt connected to you right from the beginning...kindred spirits, if you will. You and I are very much alike.  _ His words echoed in Dean's head. Was it really true? Something inside Dean told him that it was undeniably accurate, and there was no escaping it.

After a short amount of time, he mustered the strength to sit up. The Mark had ceased its throbbing, but Dean still recalled the sharp, continuous pain it had emitted while he was asleep. His mind was racing, that one obsessive thought once more entering his brain.  _ Kill Abaddon.  _ He was going to find that bitch, take her down, and murder her. It was almost a type of ecstasy he took pleasure in nowadays...envisioning Abaddon's face in his mind...the shock of finally being defeated. Because she  _ would  _ be defeated. Dean would make sure of that.

Fully revived by the image of Abaddon's traumatized expression super-glued into his brain, Dean stood with forceful determination. That tomato-headed bitch was going to bite the dust if it was the last thing he did. He curled his fists, a rather sinister smirk forming on his lips. Without another glimmer of weakness, he strode from the room. It was one of those rare moments where he was proud to be possessing the Mark of Cain. But, still, Cain's words continued to haunt him internally...like a persistent, unrelenting whisper in the back of his mind.  _ You have to know with the Mark comes a great burden. Some would call it a great cost.  _ What could that possibly mean? What was this so-called "great cost"?

But Dean refused to dwell on the inevitable. Although he couldn't help but brood over the countless possibilities of Cain's warning, he wasn't going to lose sleep over it. He was the type of man who lived in the moment...he would deal with it when the time came. And hopefully that time would be after he ganked Abaddon. Because that was his main priority, no matter the penalty.

When Dean walked into the Men of Letters' library, Sam couldn't tell whether Dean had deliberately altered his personality, or if he literally had changed. Because this was not the same man that Sam had walked in on in the bedroom. Nonetheless, he remained silent. He couldn't help but study his brother, looking for signs of discomfort or forced relaxation. Dean spoke first, seemingly attempting to break the awkwardness of the situation.

"Hey," He said, striding to the table and plopping down in the chair across from his brother. When Sam didn't reply, he frowned. "What's this case you found?" He pressed on, gesturing to the laptop. Sam turned his gaze back to the screen and scanned it briefly before flipping the computer around so Dean would be enabled to see it.

"Three victims in the last week. All found with savage wounds, most likely inflicted with a knife," Sam paraphrased while Dean read through the article. His brother looked up at Sam, his expression clearly saying;  _ 'What's the big deal?'  _ "It doesn't seem like much, but torture is rather old-school. That tactic screams demon or angel right there."

"Oh, really?" Dean scoffed, slamming the laptop screen closed. "So we're going to drive twelve hours just to check the crime scene for sulfur and whatnot? Sounds like some psychopath killer, if you ask me." Dean's voice was inappropriately irritated in Sam's honest opinion. "Waste of time. The police will take care of it. Anyway, I've gotta wait for Crowley to ring in. King Douchebag's searching the deepest oceans for the Blade." There was a pause before he spoke again, half to himself. "If his mission weren't so damn important, I'd ask him a favor... _ drown." _

Sam didn't have the grace to even smirk. There was something off about his brother. "Dean, what's up with you?"

Dean looked up at Sam, his face plainly exhibiting vexation. "Nothing's  _ 'up'  _ with me," His tone faltered only the slightest, something that only Sam would be able to observe. But when Dean noticed his brother's skeptical look, he rolled his eyes. "Dude, seriously. Let it go." Sam knew for a fact that Dean wasn't into the  _ 'touchy-feely' _ crap, so he didn't push it. Instead, he opened the laptop again. Immediately, Dean emitted a scornful huff, but said nothing.

"Don't be such a downer," Sam chided roughly. "And you didn't read the entire article." He tapped a point on the screen. "There's a witness...claims that the assailant had some crazy superhuman abilities."

Dean scoffed, but he no longer sounded as if he were ridiculing the idea. "What? So now we're dealing with Superman? Really, Sam?"

His younger brother let out a chuckle, but he was not about to dismiss the case. "Maybe. But I'd guess it's  _ our  _ kind of Superman. It's something, Dean. And we might as well make ourselves busy while Crowley's in the wind."

Sam had a good point, Dean had to give him that. But he couldn't help but regard a typical case as a waste of time. He considered pinpointing Abaddon's location a better way to spend every precious minute of his. "Look, Sam, I don't know..." Dean trailed off, torn. He wasn't sure how long it would be until Crowley found the Blade, but that certainly didn't mean it wouldn't be soon.

"It may be worth it, Dean," Sam protested, interrupting his statement. "The least we can do is check it out." Dean let out a deep sigh, but after a heartbeat, he nodded reluctantly, obliging to his brother's reasoning.

"Okay," He said finally. An uncomfortable pause ensued, and Dean pushed back from the table before climbing to his feet. "I'll be in the car." As he strode to his room to throw a few things in a duffel, he couldn't help but question his decision. A nagging voice still whispered in the back of his mind, pushing him to abandon the case, trying to convince him that Abaddon was more important. But even if she was, Dean wasn't going to relent. 

Because he knew...a regular, stereotypical case could involve anything.   
  



	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Dean really wished Sam hadn't dozed off. If he hadn't, it wouldn't be just him, the Impala, and...his thoughts. Sometimes Dean craved for the inhuman ability of literally wiping your mind clean of any shadowing doubts and musings. But unfortunately, that was simply out of the question. Cain's words still echoed in his brain, even though he was wide awake. They came one after the other, clogging Dean's mind, and therefore ceasing his capability to think rationally.

He also wished that Sam had told him before they'd gotten on the road how long the ride would be. He'd been driving nonstop for about an hour now, and he still had quite a few left. But there was no way in hell that he was going to be behind the wheel for the entire time. He would tolerate the gentle hum of the Impala's engine and flow of his thoughts that constantly haunted him for as long as he could manage. But when he couldn't stand it anymore, he would force his younger brother to switch places with him.

_ You find the Blade, kill Abaddon, but make me a promise first. When I call you...and I will call you...you come find me and use the Blade on me. _

Those were among the last few words Cain spoke to Dean before he sent them away. He had then murdered every single demon who had been trying to attack them.  _ The  _ Cain, the Father of Murder, had saved him and Crowley from disaster.

_ The Mark can be transferred to someone who's worthy. _

Dean pushed the thought away and cast a glance at his sleeping brother. Sam was leaning against the passenger door of the Impala, mouth slightly open, with each exhalation fogging the windowpane. 

Dean sighed, turning his gaze back to the road that lay before him, the asphalt seemingly endless, spanning out for miles and miles. He could only imagine what could be going on inside Sam's mind. He'd forgotten what normal, or at least, a hunter's normal, felt like ever since he took on the Mark. His brother was content, his life was ordinary, standard, what a hunter's life should be like. Dean yearned for that, but the Mark would not allow it.

* * *

 

After he had been driving for only two hours, Dean began to consider waking his brother to switch places with him. He was terribly bored of the drive, and weariness beat down on him like intense rays of the sun. Not to mention, Cain's voice in his mind was like a broken record, repeating endlessly without showing any sign of relent.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, Dean swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. While opening the driver's door, he swung his free arm across, striking Sam in the chest. His brother jerked in surprise and shot upwards. Before he could question him, Dean spoke. "Get out, you're driving." His statement was blunt, yet it appeared to satisfy Sam...to a point.

"We've been on the road for two hours, Dean," he said slowly, glancing up from his watch while climbing out of the car. He stared at Dean from across the top of the Impala, and continued when his brother failed to reply. "You can usually keep going for...twelve, thirteen hours. And this isn’t a very long drive.” Sam was unbearably confused, not to mention, exhausted. He'd stayed up half the night searching for cases. It was a usual occurrence for him, but that didn't stop him from being fatigued the next morning. But he wasn't sure Dean would be too sympathetic, judging by the strained expression he wore.

"Yeah, well, times change," The retort was weak, but Dean was too tired to care. "Hurry up," he added, giving his brother a small shove to get him walking. Dean slipped into the passenger seat gratefully, watching Sam head to the driver's side. His head was pounding tenaciously, the never-ending throb triggered by the Mark of Cain...his burden. But Dean didn't exactly consider the physical Mark what was causing him such perturbation...it was more of the threat that consistently shadowed his mind, disrupting any other coherent thoughts…

_ You have to know with the Mark comes a great burden. Some would call it a great cost. _

As his brother started up the engine and continued down the road, Dean leaned his forehead against the window. The cool glass felt good against his skin, but it didn't relieve his thoughts.  _ The Mark can be transferred to someone who's worthy.  _ He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that, by some miracle, his worries about the Mark would dissipate. He relaxed in the seat, willing himself to slowly drift away.

But sleep never came. At least, it was like it didn't. Because it felt so... _ real _ . It was the first time he had the dream. 

The dream that loomed over him months on end, a constant taunt. 

* * *

 

He was on his knees, the fingers on his right hand clasped around the hilt of a knife. When his eyes flickered downwards, Dean realized that the blade he held so tightly was dripping with fresh blood.

Fear shot through him, and his gaze snapped up, surveying his surroundings in a panic. Decimated bodies were scattered around him, an look of terror frozen in the eyes that would never see again. Dean was immobile, too much in a shock to even muster the strength to tremble in his horrified state. 

_ Did I do this?  _

The thought felt painfully raw, as if he had someone stripped it from the innermost corner of his mind. "I...didn't mean to..." The desperate sentence escaped from Dean's mouth without him realizing it. Little did he know that those were the very same words that he would speak when this really did happen. Because it would, indeed, happen. It was inevitable. 

And though he refused to believe it, somewhere in his brain he knew...it was impossible to overcome.

* * *

 

Sam couldn't help but note the discomfort in Dean's posture as he slept. His face was strained and his body was tense, which only worried Sam more. Dean was acting different than usual, more distant, confined to himself. Something was bothering him, and Sam had a sinking feeling that it was the Mark, slowly worming its way into his brother's mind. But no matter how bad it got, there was no way in hell that Sam was going to allow the Mark completely take control over Dean. He was going to find a cure once his brother ganked Abaddon. Hell, he'd do it before then in a heartbeat if Dean would let him.

For a moment, Sam considered waking his brother. But recalling how much sleep Dean had been losing lately due to searching for Abaddon, he decided against it. Dean wasn't a machine, he was just like any other human being. So although he did his best to conceal it, Sam could plainly see that he was exhausted. 

And whenever his brother did sleep, it was good enough for Sam.

* * *

 

Dean began to tremble, feeling the blood from his victims trickle down his body, soaking his skin and staining his clothes. He didn't want this to happen...he was  _ not  _ a killer. This wasn't supposed to be the end result of all of this.

All he wanted to do was find Abaddon and skin her ass.

There was no way in hell he was going to allow the Mark to do this to him. Yet something inside Dean told him that every ounce of strength he had inside his body couldn't fight it. It was just too strong. His grip around the knife tightened, his hand shaking with equal parts shock, sorrow, and...what was that last feeling? Dean struggled to pinpoint the name of this strange sensation. It seemed out of place in this situation, from where he knelt. And then it hit him...he knew what it was.

_ Acceptance. _

* * *

 

Dean's eyes flew open, and he jerked upwards, gasping. The dream was still rolling through his brain, and along with it, the dreaded sensation that he had felt...acceptance. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sam cast him a concerned look. "Dean? You okay, man?" Dean took a deep breath as he realized he was clutching the forearm that held the Mark of Cain. 

Immediately, he yanked his hand away. Reaching into his jacket, he found what he was looking for, a flask filled with whiskey, and pulled it out. He brought the rim to his mouth and downed a gulp of it, smacking his lips as the alcohol slid down his throat.

"Yeah, I'm fine," He lied smoothly, feeling the liquor making its way into his system. Before Sam had a chance to question him further, Dean continued. "How long was I asleep?" It was a genuine inquiry, the sky outside was now almost completely black, its color could be called a charcoal gray. The stars and moon were concealed behind a thick layer of clouds.

Sam's gaze lingered on Dean a bit longer than could be described as  _ ‘normal’ _ , but nonetheless, he replied to Dean's question. He snorted, focusing his gaze back on the dark expanse of asphalt before him. "Dude, you were  _ out.  _ I've been driving for about eight hours." Sam glanced back to his brother, looking as if he were about to say something else. But before he had a chance, Dean responded.

"Dammit," Dean groaned, letting his head fall back against the passenger seat. "Sorry, Sammy. I'll drive for the last hour." What the hell was his problem? Sleeping for…hell, double the amount of time he usually did? What happened to four hours? His younger sibling didn't reply, acknowledging Dean's statement by pulling over to the side of the road without a word of protest.

When Dean slipped back behind the wheel of the Impala, he swallowed another swig of whiskey. The liquid was strong, and he was grateful for that. But what he didn't realize was that the more he drank, the more intoxicated he got, which therefore made the voice of the father of murder in his mind even louder. But he truthfully still believed that the liquor muted the memories.

With Dean behind the wheel, slightly tipsy or not, they made it to their destination in a little under an hour. Neither brother said a word on the way, Dean kept his eyes on the road, and Sam kept his on the map. 

When they finally rolled into Durham, North Carolina, Sam was half-asleep, slumped over the atlas book. As Dean turned into into the Blue Rose motel parking lot, he cast a glance at his brother, rolling his eyes. "Lesson learned," He said to him under his breath, opening the driver's door to head into the lobby. "Don't stay up half the night looking for jobs, geek-boy." Sam remained half-conscious, unaware of the fact that Dean had just addressed him.

But by the time he returned with their room key, his younger brother was up and shouldering his duffel. Sam tossed Dean his bag and they headed towards their room. It was decent, the wallpaper was yellowing slightly, but other than that, it was one of the better rooms they had stayed in. 

"Not too shabby," Dean remarked as they threw their packs onto the beds. Sam nodded absently in agreement, sifting through his duffel bag for his laptop. "Okay, so I say we crash for the night, then we can do our suit-and-tie dance first thing." Dean suggested.

Sam once more dipped his head in acknowledgment, setting his laptop down on the table by the window and then collapsing onto his bed. 

Dean smirked in amusement, watching his brother for a moment longer before turning back to his bed. Just looking at the mattress made his stomach churn, because he knew that if he fell asleep, more nightmares would rage beneath his eyelids. His latest one was still fresh in his mind, a continuous taunt. So he sat at the table and opened his brother's laptop, downing the rest of the whiskey. 

He scanned the article on the tab that Sam had left open, re-reading it over and over again.

* * *

 

Under normal circumstances, he would have passed out after a while, but since he had slept for more than half the day, he was nicely tense and alert. Not that he needed to be. As the hours dragged by, Dean found that his mind was clearing, which was something he didn't want. The alcohol muddled his brain, which made him unable to think rationally about the Mark and Cain. Little did he know that the liquor actually influenced the memories to come forth. 

But since he was unaware of that factor, he stood and marched to the small motel kitchen in which he had stowed the whiskey bottle. Instead of transferring some of the liquid to his flask, he grabbed hold of the entire thing.

In just two hours, he had the bottle drained of any alcohol. He had drank so much that he was unable to think clearly.  _ Damn it.  _ He thought, remembering the crime scene. He wasn't stupid, he knew he was drunk. It was going to be difficult to pose as a Federal Agent while wasted.

_ I can give you the Mark, Dean, if it's what you truly want. _

"Son of a  _ bitch. _ " He hissed under his breath, tightly squeezing his right fist and clenching his forearm. Would these damn voices ever shut the hell up? He felt unbelievably insecure whenever Cain's voice passed through his mind, loud and clear as a bell. He cast a glance at his watch. 

Eight in the morning was just rolling by, and Dean sighed. They had reached the motel at around midnight, and his brother had driven for more than half the time on the way. He didn't want to wake Sam, who was lying passed out on the motel bed, having barely moved since they arrived. But there was a painstaking truth in the fact that they had to get moving on solving this case.

Dean eventually concluded that checking out the body and interviewing the witness was more important than stalling even longer. So, against his wishes, he reluctantly strode to Sam's motionless body and slapped his feet as he moved to his duffel bag. "Hey. Up and at 'em," He told him, sifting through his things in search of the suit he usually wore.

Sam grunted, sitting upright and watching Dean unearth the gray slacks and coat from his bag. "What time is it?" He asked, running a hand over his face wearily. Dean glanced at him to reply, but Sam didn't give his brother a chance to even open his mouth before he checked his watch. "Ugh..." He groaned, clumsily twisting around and connecting his feet to the floor. "Why'd you let me sleep so long?" He questioned, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"'Cause I'm awesome brother," Dean responded in a monotone voice, smirking as he couldn't help but think back to the last time he'd said the same thing in a similar situation.

It had been years and years back, just around the time Sam had left Stanford due to his girlfriend Jessica's death. He'd been plagued by vivid nightmares for a long while and had been unwilling to even close his eyes. So whenever he did fall asleep, Dean always let him, no matter what. And if he realized that his brother was having a nightmare, he was always there to wake him. He remembered that during that time, he had constantly wondered what it would be like to be haunted by horrific dreams that never occurred only once. 

Sam didn't answer, sitting with his elbows on his knees and rubbing his temple. "C'mon, man," Dean said, buttoning his dress shirt. "We don't have all day. Let's solve this case you snagged, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam replied, standing and making his way to his own bag. "You wanna divide and conquer?" He suggested, beginning to change. "I'll take the witness, you take the body?" Dean nodded in acknowledgment. Sam had good reasoning in this case...they could cover more ground if they split up. But then Dean paused, taking in the smug look on Sam's face, and he frowned suspiciously before realizing what Sam could be so complacent about. 

"No." He said, grasping the situation. "The witness isn't—”

"Some hot chick?" Sam interrupted, smiling widely with triumph clear in his hazel eyes. "You guessed right. Her name's Gina Sullett.” He couldn't wipe that stupid grin from his face, even though Dean probably wished he would. But, hey. It wasn't everyday that Sam was the one who got to hang out with the chicks. It was usually Dean, since he was... _ older. _

Dean stood in an awkward silence, mouth slightly ajar, while Sam stood by, smirking patronizing. There was a pause before Dean spoke again, irritation clear in his voice. And all he said was one simple word. "Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam retorted, making use of their old catchphrase. Before Dean could say another word, he slipped on his suit jacket and fastened his tie around his neck. "You coming?" He asked as he opened the motel room door. "Or are you just going to stand there all day looking like an idiot?" With those words, he exited the room and headed out to the Impala.

Dean was left standing in the motel, holding his tie and looking like an idiot. But the minute Sam slammed the door behind him, he slipped on his tie and followed after Sam, muttering to himself. "Me the idiot? You're the...idiot." He'd always been bad at comebacks. He slid into the driver's seat and started up the engine. "Okay. I'll drop you off at the witness's house, and then go check out the morgue. I'll meet you back at Gina's, and we can head to the crime scene. Capisce?" He asked, glancing at his brother.

Sam dipped his head in acknowledgment, back to his all-business self. "Sounds good to me." He was busy flipping through the phonebook, searching for the witness's address. "Here we go." He told Dean the address and slammed the book shut. His head was reeling, wondering what Gina had seen that night in the alleyway. He couldn't help but think about how convenient it was that there happened to be a witness in a case like this.

Dean pulled up to the witness's house in a matter of minutes. Their motel was located in the smaller, more subdued, part of Durham, which was the area that Gina lived in as well. This factor happened to be to their advantage during their investigations, in case they had anymore questions regarding what she had been witness to. Sam slipped out of the passenger seat while Dean let the Impala idle on the curb. "I'll be back when I can," Dean said to his brother as he slammed the door. "Don't do anything... _ too  _ hasty."

Sam smirked as Dean pressed on the gas and continued down the road. He then turned to the simple, one-story house before him and headed up the walkway. Gina opened the door to him almost immediately, as if she had been expecting him, which he found rather peculiar. "Gina Sullett?" He inquired, giving her a brief once-over. She was pretty, he could give her that. Plain, no doubt, but still attractive. She nodded once, studying him suspiciously. 

Sam smiled at her reassuringly and presented his fake Federal Agent badge for her to see. "Agent Frehley. I have a few questions involving the incident you witnessed two nights ago? May I come in?"

She studied the badge for a moment before dipping her head. "Of course, Agent," She responded, giving him a polite smile as she beckoned him inside. "I spoke to the police already," She continued, leading him down a dimly lit hallway to her brightly-lit living room. "I figured if the FBI got involved, they'd just read the police report." She sounded appropriately confused, and Sam couldn't blame her.

"Well, Miss Sullett, sometimes it's easier to get the answers in the witness's own words," He explained to her. She appeared as if she was satisfied by his answer, brushing her soft caramel-colored curls behind her shoulders. "Now, first things first, can you describe to me what you saw that night? Just go back to that moment  _ once  _ more for me."

She smiled respectfully at him, before furrowing her brow. "It was really late at night. I was coming out of the bar near the alleyway when it happened. I heard screaming...so I went to check it out. I wanted to see if someone was in trouble. But...what I saw..." She trailed off, eyes widened as she recalled the events from that night. "It wasn't anything I could've imagined." 

With a deep inhalation, she continued haltingly. "The attacker was this young woman...maybe in her mid-twenties? She was torturing this poor man, and whenever he tried to...you know, fight back, she threw him to the ground. Without  _ touching  _ him." Gina looked utterly miffed. "And her eyes...they were  _ glowing.  _ This...grayish silver color, I..." She trailed off, slowly closing her mouth and narrowing her gaze. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"No," Sam assured her. "I don't." He didn't say much else, too busy digging deep into his mind, trying to figure out what the mysterious creature could be. He vaguely remembered Castiel saying something along those lines when he had been completing the Trials to close the gates of Hell. But he had been so delirious and focused on finishing his task that he couldn't recollect exactly what the angel had said.

"That's good," Gina responded, her voice strangely sinister. "I always love a man who respects what a woman says." He slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers, confused by her abrupt change of personality. And what he was greeted with caused his chest to lurch in shock. Gina's normally pale blue gaze was malicious, and when she blinked, her eyes flashed black. 

She smiled in a disturbing way, her black gaze reflecting the ceiling light. "We're going to have so much fun, aren't we... _ Sam?"  _ Before he could make a move, she flicked her wrist, and he flew back against the wall. 

His head slammed into the plaster, and he knew no more.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is a full, complete book already. I will post a chapter or two a day. Enjoy and please leave kudos and a comment!


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